What hurts most
by de mouse
Summary: Someone comes to a forked road. Decisions are tough to make but time waits for no one. NurikoXHotohori YAOI


What hurts most ****

What Hurts Most

By De Mouse

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STANDARD DISCLAIMER: All the characters used in this fanfic solely belong to their rightful creators and are used without permission. This fanfic does not make any profit and is for personal entertainment only. The original storyline is copyright to the author. Please do not take or duplicate this fanfic without permission.

WARNING: Yaoi! Anti-yaoi readers are asked not to go any further. And extra warnings since mouse-chan has never seen the series before. So expect OOCness. Oh, and grammar mistakes as well since this was written when mouse-chan was not in an entirely good mood.

Comments can be sent to mouse-chan at [cheese_factory@hotmail.com][1]

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One stroke for good health.

The brush treads through the purple strands easily. Fine bristles slid past as though they were moving across air. Silk hair parts giving way to the firm strokes like water gives way to a rock. Slim shoulders shrugs allowing the locks to fall like waves down towards the floor. The weigh of those gorgeous purple strands hangs heavy, similar to the burden in his mind. A dim light flickers from a lone candle sitting on the dresser. It's yellow glow reflected weakly in the mirror in front of the small Seishi. His face is pale in the candlelight. He glances at himself for a moment before resuming his task.

A rustle of silk murmurs from the numerous skirts that adorns the youth's slender figure as the hand moves upwards. Fingers bring down the brush again letting the purple hair wash over it. 

One for luck.

Nuriko watches his reflection. The image is not clear since the light is poor. He can't really make out the lines of his own face. The only thing that the flickering candle reveals is the harsh paleness of his skin against the shadows that sits behind him but he watches anyway. He stares at the purple strands that catches the weak light, entrapping it within it causing the silky surface to gleam like gems. It reminds him of someone else. 

The brush moves steadily downwards.

His lips forms a word..a name but he doesn't say it out loud. Doesn't want to break the thinly spread peace that sleeps within the room. The only sound that invades the room is the crickets chirping outside in the palace grounds. Sometimes there is a call from a lone owl from the trees. Through the brick walls, Nuriko can hear the slight rustle of leaves made by the wind. He can't see all the dark greenery outside since the windows were closed. Yet in his eyes he can imagine the scenery beyond the tightly shut barriers.

The imaginary picture leads him to another place. 

He can hear his mother talking gently to a girl whose hair is as long as his. The soft voice explaining the meaning of each stroke while pulling a wooden brush through the young girl's hair. The way the girl's head nods in understanding as she listens intently on the methods of changing a simple action to something more meaningful, the correct way to gracefully move to make the watching gods smile, to gain their favor. The correct twist of the hand that could smooth out the tightest of tangles. He remembers sitting quietly on his bed, staring at the two figures. Elbows on the cool white bed sheets while his feet waves aimlessly in the air.

A small smile twists its way onto Nuriko's lips. 

He looks at himself through the eyes of the mirror in front of him. The youth in a delicate silk gown stares back at him. There was something hauntingly familiar about his movements, the face that watches him from the shiny surface. He supposes the image that is in front of him is not his own. There is a lady there instead of a boy. He nods to an invisible person standing beside him, ears listening to the voice that cannot be heard by anyone. His mind still viewing the scene that happened so many years ago while his body plays it out. The Seishi allows the pretense to continue, conjuring up his sister within himself and keeping her there...still there with him. 

A little bit of the ache disappears, just a little. 

The rest of the pain belongs to a youth behind the court lady. He knows the hurt does not have a balm that would ever sooth it. There is no medication that would ever help make it better. Endurance is the only way to keep his mental self in one piece. A smile comes naturally, sometimes forced and sometimes just because he wants to laugh. Normally the court lady is there but recently more of the boy came out. More of the hurt made itself known.

His hand comes to a halt after the brush reaches the tips of the purple locks. There is no noticeable pause before the brush moves smoothly to the top of his head again. 

One for longevity.

His heart thuds in a steady rhythm. He hears the faint pulse in his ears. It's just another sound added to the quiet of the room. He wonders if it was really his own heart beating in his chest.

Nuriko thinks of the source of the rest of the pain. Another face moves into his mind to replace the court lady. This time the long hair turns brown while golden eyes peers into the darkness of the night. An unintentional sigh comes out before he could stop it. The boy in him turns away, hurt.

Hotohori-sama....

The purple haired Seishi tries to ignore the sudden difficulty he faces in breathing. 

His mind supplies the countless of time and attempts he made to catch the Emperor's attention. The disappointment at each failure. His jelousy when the Suzaku miko appeared and captured the only thing he wanted. Those golden eyes never once glanced his way. Hotohori-sama's heart is already in the unknowing hands of a girl that loves someone else. The boy in him cries bitterly while the court lady that laughs to hide away the boy, plotting a way for revenge. 

A way to kill the hurt.

Yet now he knew how wrong it is to blame Miaka.

It is not her fault the Emperor dreamt of her ever since he was a little boy. Not her fault the way Hotohori-sama stares entranced at her as though she is his goddess. Not her fault Nuriko fell in love with someone that would never love him back.

The smile on his face turns a little sad. A little more wistful. 

His hand leads the brush through another stroke. This one was slow and halting.

Another for good fortune.

All this time he sat patiently waiting for the love that would not come back. Nuriko watches his own self, yet another face dominates his mind. The ache in him grows stronger, harder to ignore. He knows that even if his dream of turning into a woman comes true, there will never be a chance of capturing the Emperor's heart. That was already lost somewhere he couldn't reach. Sarcasm, a loyal friend to the court lady, comes back informing him that he would never be able to bear Hotohori-sama a heir to the throne anyway. 

Nuriko stares down at his own figure thinking of how true the statement was.

He is no woman. It is selfish to wish for something so impossible. Hotohori-sama needs a son to resume the royal line, not some male lover. At times, love isn't enough to make everything possible. And this love is only one sided. No matter how strong the feeling is or the how a single word from the Emperor could make him blush. It didn't matter how he dreams of those golden eyes every night while scared stiff whenever Hotohori-sama gotten hurt in a battle. Didn't matter if he would willingly give his life up to make sure the Emperor lives or endure tears each day just to see a smile on that face. 

A laugh, bitter like many others he had made when he thinks of his emotions.

It is pathetic like those dramatic plays that entertainers sing about. Words portraying a woman hopelessly in love with a man but the man never notices her. He was too busy running after another girl. There is another short laugh after he notices how amusingly similar it was to his plight. Unfortunately he couldn't drown himself in a lake like the heartbroken heroin. 

Nuriko's fingers tightens over the ivory handle. It is cool under his touch. The purple haired Seishi allows the brush to slowly travels through his hair once more. 

He tilts his head to one side, letting the strands escape from the brush. One hand moves to catch the errant bangs. The silk slips back, whispering as it retreats to uncover the arm that lies beneath it. The gown slides over the skin that holds the willow sign. 

Suicide is unforgivable since he is a Suzaku Seishi. He knows even if one Seishi was missing, Suzaku would not appear and the rest of the world's fate is doomed. After all, what are his emotions worth compared to a thousand deaths. Besides he has never contemplated killing himself before. He has a strong notion his sister would never forgive him if he did. Nuriko carefully shifts causing the silk to slid properly back to its rightful place.

The brush presses against his scalp.

One for prosperity.

Now he knows why most people value simplicity.

Peasants in small villagers never encounters such complex problems dealing with emotions. Perhaps they have their own troubles like the lack of money and food but the saying that a rich man is never happy was proven true. 

Nuriko peers at the luxurious room through the mirror. There is almost everything he could possibly need. The purple haired Seishi is quite sure if he took one of the vases out to the market and sells it, the money he will receive would make him a very rich person indeed. 

Another wistful look crosses the pale face as the brush makes another repeated gesture. He finds the act somewhat soothing since there were no complicated requirements of thought. Just lift the handle up and bring it down again. The gesture that can be repeated thousands and thousands of times without mistakes or failure. At first there are a few tangles but soon those barriers were smoothes away. Only the silk strands are left. 

He wonders if life is similar to such a small activity.

While he muses over the fact, his hand unthinkingly pulls through the tresses again. 

This one is for friendship.

The stroke reminds him of his Seishi friends. Nuriko smiles, a touch of happiness colors his pale face. Their reaction to him not being a woman did not change their behavior towards the purple haired Seishi. For that reason alone, it makes him glad to have friends like them. The smile becomes a little wider when he recalls the way Tamahome's eyes widened in surprise when he found out. Amusement tickles at his chest. 

His mind wanders off to a blue haired monk and a certain bandit. He smiles fondly at all the times those two caught each other's eyes. The faint pinked cheeks when they touched. 

Nuriko knows that there is something between them. If not, that something was about to happen in the near future. For them, their friendship would take another step, moving out of friendship and into a relationship that was much more intimate. He is glad he sees the telling signs. Happy two of his friends who deserves each other would become a pair soon.

His thoughts comes back to the matter of his brooding.

Forcefully, the small Seishi tugs at his hair once more.

Another for love. 

He questions himself how long could he keep up this play. The little voice in his head tells him that it wouldn't be long. There was a decision he must make before the night fades away. He can sense a change rapidly approaching in the breeze. Nuriko doesn't want to leave the past but he also doesn't want to live waiting for Hotohori to one day notice him. His smile turns sad. Sometimes he forgets that he is not Kourin, just Nuriko. Not a court lady.....not a person Hotohori would ever fall in love with.

Not a person who the Emperor will want for his wife.

Nuriko knows that it was hopeless to gaze after Hotohori. No use in wanting something that he will never get. 

He is tired of trying after countless of attempts. 

Perhaps it is time to stop.

Time to let go.

He watches himself in the mirror. Watches as a tear slides down his white cheek. He wipes it away with the edge of the silk. The candle dims a little. The court lady is not in the weak yellow light anymore. The boy is there and so is the terrible ache in his chest. But his focus is not on Hotohori or Kourin but on the willow sign that lies embedded deep in his skin, in his very soul. Somehow the gown that he wears doesn't seem right anymore now that the court lady was gone. 

Lip thins in determination as he realizes a decision has already been made. For a split seconds, he sees what lies ahead of him. 

He lifts up the brush for one last time. 

This one....this one is for courage.

Not far away a glimmer of light shines before a familiar Miko's voice rings out into the night calling out for the Suzaku Seishi. The door is open, allowing the night breeze in. Candle light flickers and the mirror reflects the empty room. 

The brush lies silently on the dresser.

~OWARI~

   [1]: mailto:cheese_factory@hotmail.com



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